


You

by Fortitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crying, Light Angst, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Apocalypse, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortitude/pseuds/Fortitude
Summary: The end of the world might have been averted, but the end of Crowley and Aziraphale might not have been





	You

**Author's Note:**

> All fics left on my computer for more than a fortnight turns into angst, sorry  
Inspiration and lyrics from [You by Keaton Henson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxQLNxFA1Mg), a very underrated musician with angst potential galore, and I recommend to listen.

_If you must wait,_

_Wait for them here in my arms as I shake_

_If you must weep,_

_Do it right here in my bed as I sleep_

There is nothing quite so terrifying as knowing they’re coming for you, but never knowing when. They had averted the end of the world, but at what cost? Just how much is Crowley willing to let go of, just to let the world live to see another day, another year, another lifetime?

Crowleys thoughts wouldn’t stop churning the entire bus ride from Tadfield to London, so of course he said yes when Aziraphale suggested they both snuggle up in bed for some well-deserved rest, hoping it would help quiet down his mind. Not that it’s helping him much at all, though, now that he’s here.

The hours stretch on for days, it seems, lying there waiting. For sleep. Or for Heaven and Hell to come for them, traitors as they both are now. Sleepless hours, while Aziraphale breathes softly next to him, occasionally shifting in his sleep. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time, not really helping him to settle down.

_If you must mourn, my love_

_Mourn with the moon and the stars up above_

_If you must mourn,_

_Don't do it alone_

It takes him quite a while to realize that if this plan of theirs fail, if he fails, then it will also mean the end of Aziraphale. So he weeps, quietly as to not wake the sleeping angel, weeps for the world, and for his world, knowing how close they all were to losing everything. How close he still is to losing.

Aziraphale shifts in his sleep again, slipping an arm around Crowleys waist. Maybe, somewhere deep down, he senses the demons discomfort, and want to comfort him, even in sleep.

In the dim moonlight shining in through the window, his white-blonde curls look like a halo around the angels head, and more tears slip down Crowleys cheeks as he realizes how close Aziraphale is to Falling. For how close he has been, for so long, to Falling and how monumental Crowleys role in leading him there has been.

Would Aziraphale ever have managed to shake off the heavenly doctrine and saved the world, if Crowley hadn’t been right there beside him, going against Hellish orders to do the same? Questioning unfair orders from Above, fraternizing with a demon. Creating their own side, of neither Heaven nor Hell, but rather the Earth and humanity they have both come to love over the millennia.

_If you must leave,_

_Leave as though fire burns under your feet_

_If you must speak,_

_Speak every word as though it were unique_

And of course, love. That’s the thing he worries about the most. There are so many words that haven’t been spoken between them, or, at least not right. Not as they should have been.

He doesn’t want a repeat of 1967. “You go too fast for me, Crowley,” is still the most difficult words he has ever heard coming from Aziraphales mouth. He is aware of the implications of the whole exchange, but none of the truly important words had been said out loud, in the open, where they should have been. And, if 6000 years has been too fast for Aziraphale, then how would he react if those words were to be spoken now, right before they might lose everything? Would he walk away, never to look back? Choose to go back to Heaven, where he might be forced to Fall, but maybe even worse; being forced to spend eternity in an uncaring environment filled with angels who don’t even like him, who don’t care for books, and cocoa, and sushi. Who won’t care for Aziraphale.

And so Crowley doesn’t dare linger at the thought, can’t bear to imagine a world where Aziraphale runs away, one where Crowley will be even more alone than he feels right at this moment.

(Despite the very peaceful angel sleeping on his chest)

_If you must die, sweetheart_

_Die knowing your life was my life's best part_

_If you must die,_

_Remember your life_

Dinners and lunches. Oysters and crepes. Feeding the ducks in the park. Saving the world. There are so many things they have done over the course of their time here on Earth, yet so many they haven’t, or at least not done enough. Picnics. Breakfasts, and decent-vintage wine miraculously better. Teacups and cocoa forgotten during arguments and discussions. Bickering in the Bentley.

Aziraphale nuzzles his nose into Crowleys neck, sighing contentedly in his sleep, soft body curling against Crowleys rigid one. They might never have another night like this, and Crowley silently mourns all the things he wish they had done. Would Aziraphale have taken to sleeping earlier, if they’d lied like this? And, would Crowleys aching heart have found some relief in it too?

_You are_

_You are_

_Oh, you are_

_You are_

_Oh_

For all the things they have experienced together over the years, there’s quite a lot they haven’t, and Crowley is already well into regretting a lot of them. Never really experienced just how soft the touch of an angel can be, the warmth of their hands together, fighting off the cold autumn air as they walk through the park. Touches less fleeting than the gentle brush of shoulders they occasionally allow themselves. The softness of the angels lips moving against his. And naturally, more nights like this one, curled up against each other. Sleeping, or talking of everything and nothing, of the turning of the seasons, or the earth and it’s inhabitants. Followed, of course, by days of wiling and thwarting, as it should be. An endless dance of good and evil, resulting in a world where both is present and available for choosing.

_If you must fight,_

_Fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night_

_If you must work,_

_Work to leave some part of you on this earth_

_If you must live, darling one,_

And they truly have chosen, haven’t they? The freedom that only humans were allowed, yet here they are. Choosing each other, and earth, over their respective sides every time. They are both the closest thing to human in their respective head offices.

Slowly, over millennia, getting rid of the things that remind them of home. The vast sterility of Heaven, countered by a cluttered bookshop, shelves filled with dusty books and prized knickknacks gathered over time. The cramped hostility of Hell, countered by a minimalistic apartment, filled with plants that are, despite everything, loved and cared for. And they aren’t ready, or willing, to go back to a place that feels stranger than what even earth did in their first nights here, forced to fit a mould that didn’t fit all that well to begin with, to be quite honest.

And besides, humanity has, on occasion, needed them here. Who will remember them and all their achievements when they’re gone? Anathema and Newton, Tracy and Shadwell, and the Them, of course, but humans have such short lives. Once they are gone, their influence on humanity will be too, like how their influence on a number of historical figures and events has in the past, once the people present have passed on. No, Crowley thinks, looking down at the sleeping Angel on his chest. There is only one option here.

_Just live_

_Just live_

_Just live_

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad writing this. Someone give this demon a hug 2k19. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr and can be found [here](https://the-fandom-life-rocks.tumblr.com)


End file.
